


The Skies Above Are Blue

by zetsubonna



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Marijuana, Modern Veterans, Roommates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-01
Updated: 2017-01-01
Packaged: 2018-09-14 01:50:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9151864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zetsubonna/pseuds/zetsubonna
Summary: ❤︎ for Sierra ❤︎Sam was going in for a debriefing. The blond Army guy in the next seat in the waiting room sounded like home.





	

"Wilson?" He was blond. On the short side for army. And it was a dirty blond, but those eyes were blue as hell.

"Have we met?"

"No." Blondie tapped his name tag. [Rogers.] He'd read Sam's. He was wearing a paratrooper insignia and a decent number of ribbons. "How long you been in?"

"Five years," Sam played it cool. This guy didn't look a day over 25.

"Pararescue, though. That's intense."

"It wasn't easy. You?"

"Three," Blondie said. "But that ain't shit. Just stuck it out."

"Jumped out of a perfectly good airplane," Sam said, then offered Rogers a fist bump. "Harlem."

Rogers scooted on the couch to give Sam room to sit. "Brooklyn. Food?"

"24 hour days that end at 4:30."

"Ten different languages before lunch."

"Brunch."

"MOMA."

"Public transport."

"It's hard to appreciate how well they do until they ain't there."

"Give me your email," Sam said. "Bet we can send each other a few a day."

[s.g.rogers.art@gmail.com]

[st.wil.son@gmail.com]

* * *

  _I'm deploying again. You?_

_Heading home soon. Rotating out in eight months._

_I keep thinking about re-upping. Maybe I should go career._

_Do you want to? What do your folks say?_

_Don't know if I want to. Haven't asked them yet. Parents are dead. My foster brother got sent back. Counter sniper. Lost a wing._

_Christ, Rogers. Why are you just telling me now?_

_Didn't seem relevant._

_Finish out but don't re-up. Come home. I need a roommate anyway._

_But what about the hipsters, Sam?_

_I'll drag every vet I see home until we can mean mug them back out._

_16:20?_

_Thanks for asking. We'll see._

_I only ask that you consider. Edibles, not smoke, if that makes any difference._

* * *

"So, hi." Steve was wearing a dark blue hoodie over an American flag in bi pride colors. "Didn't want you to find out after I moved in."

"You're a stereotype," Sam nodded into his beer. "Also: no radar. Very sad. Minus ten points."

"Oh, thank fuck," Steve sighed, signaling the bartender. "I didn't even bother until after my paperwork wrapped, I didn't want to have to rearrange anything."

"My guys didn't give a damn," Sam shrugged. "They all knew before."

"So now the question is: how much is the rent, and when can I move in?"

"Your share is 1300, and you're a dumb ass if you don't come out and see it first."

"If I leave this bar alone," Steve drawled, "it will be the first time."

Sam laughed. "You're full of shit."

"I am," Steve agreed. "I also brought my subway card. I need to know where to send my gear."

"You still staying with your foster family?" Sam asked.

"Ma Barnes wouldn't hear otherwise. Bucky had to show her the official stats on pararescue to convince her you were trustworthy."

"I thought mine was the only mother who checked resumes," Sam said. "Can't wait to meet her."

 "You won't have to," Steve sighed. "She'll come over for inspection as soon as I tell her I made my bed."

"That code for something?"

"The porn is put away and my clothes aren't on the floor."

"Mrs. Barnes and Mrs. Wilson are going to get along famously."

* * *

"You've done a lovely job here, Sam." Minnie Barnes was exactly what Sam had pictured when Steve had said ‘late 50s university librarian,’ right down to the ‘aesthetic that would make a Modcloth hipster girl jealous of the authenticity.’

"I like the colors. Very mature."

"Thank you, ma'am," Sam said. "Coffee or tea? Instant and loose-leaf."

Minnie eyed him with exaggerated suspicion. "I was told roommate. Should he have said boyfriend?"

"I was raised properly," Sam said, then lowered his voice to feign a conspiracy. "If he didn't tell you, I would."

"Stop snitching on me," Steve complained as he came back in, deliberately stepping on Sam's toes with his socked foot. "Drink the man's coffee."

* * *

"Steven," Darlene Wilson squeezed his hand warmly. "I'm so glad to finally meet you."

"Mrs. Barnes advised I should bring over some of my best cookies," Steve said, motioning over Bucky, who was looking surly. "Don't make that face. You knew those cookies were not for you."

"I just think it's real cheap to put cookies in my hand, knowing I can't steal any if I'm holding them, and still treat me like a cookie thief." Bucky grumbled, then brightened. "Hello, Mrs. Wilson. These are excellent cookies."

"You must be James," Darlene beamed at him, taking the plate and settling it on the counter, cling-wrap intact. She squeezed his hand as well. "Or do you really prefer Bucky?"

"Only people who call me James are Father Donovan and my grandma," Bucky said, turning the wattage of his smile up to a thousand.

"Don't fall for it, Ma," Sam warned, even as Darlene moved to unwrap the cookies. "That's how he gets you."

Darlene glanced at Bucky, who bit his lips together and looked decently ashamed of how he'd already been reaching for the cookie he knew she'd give him. Darlene laughed, delighted. "Oh, my!"

"Man loses a limb for his country, everybody ought to give him cookies," Bucky muttered, dropping the charade as easily as he had picked it up.

"Can't take you anywhere," Steve scolded, smacking him in the back of the head. "Those aren't for you. Yours are at your ma's."

"I'm not at my ma's," Bucky pointed out, whacking Steve with his empty sleeve.

Darlene took a bite of one of the cookies, then hummed loudly with pleasant surprise. "Oh! No wonder you wanted these." 

She shoved one into Bucky's mouth, getting a "Ma!" from Sam. "Don't encourage him!"

Steve sighed.

"Sam, go check on my pie. Steven, quit fussing over Bucky and go put those presents under my tree."

Sam and Steve exchanged looks before they accepted their orders and their cookie-chomping companion with a sighed, "Yes, ma'am."

* * *

"Is Steve your boyfriend?" Bess asked, making Sam choke on his drink.

"Not every guy Steve brings home is his boyfriend," Rebecca scolded her, then she turned on Sam and lowered her voice. "It's fine if you are, though. Steve's been out to us forever."

"We can't just be roommates who like each other?" Sam asked, pounding his chest to finish clearing the liquid from his lungs.

"Is he not your type?" chimed in Bucky's other sister, Jackie. "He's kind of short and pretty, for an army guy."

"Steve's not pretty," Bess objected. "Sam's pretty."

"Sam's handsome," Rebecca overruled. "Bucky and Steve are pretty."

"We are trying to make sure," Jackie said, this time in a stage whisper, "That Bucky and Steve either marry people we like, or each other."

"Either way?" Sam asked, clearly amused. "What if I were Bucky's boyfriend, then?"

"You'd do," Rebecca said candidly. 

"We like you," Bess agreed.

"Pick a brother," Jackie nodded.

"Take us both," Bucky said as he came in. "Two for one, on sale. What are we talking about?"

Sam was choking on his drink again.

* * *

"Why are we doing this?" Steve clung to Sam.

"Because we're assholes," Sam kept him steady. "Because we're stupid assholes."

"You're bad at this," Bucky said as he swirled by, using his one arm to balance as he did a perfect tour jeté. "You guys are real bad at this."

Sam gave him the finger. Steve laughed so hard he nearly fell.

"Steve knows how to skate," Bucky told Natasha as she let him lead her in a double spiral.

"So does Sam," Natasha said. "Those skates fit perfectly, they’re well used, and they're not rental."

"When are they going to give up?"

"They're assholes," Natasha said.

* * *

"Steve." Sam's pupils were blown. "Steve, why didn't you label your cookies?"

"Oh God." Steve straightened at his drafting table. "Oh my God, Sam."

"Yesterday was Tuesday," Sam sat down hard on the chair across from Steve's desk. "So it's partially my fault for not realizing. How stoned am I about to be?"

"I don't know!" Steve put his pencil in the desk's groove. "I don't know, Sam. How many did you eat?"

"I think- maybe- four?" Sam bit his lip at Steve's wince. "I hecked up."

"Go sit on the couch." Steve pointed. "You hecked up bad."

 

Sam sat on the couch. He watched, glazed, as Steve brought him a big bottle of water and two carefully prepared fluffernutter sandwiches.

"I am so sorry," Steve said, wiping the sweat from Sam's brow with his fingertips. "I am so, so sorry."

"Call work," Sam said, blinking owlishly. "Tell them-"

"You're out for the rest of the week," Steve said, shaking his head. "I did, Sam. You told me ten minutes ago. Before-"

"Oh.” Sam was quiet, blinking. "I forgot. I was looking at your eyelashes."

Steve stopped where he was, brow furrowing. "My eyelashes?"

"Your eyelashes are ridiculous," Sam said, blinking again. "Why are they so long? Why do you have so many?"

Steve covered his mouth.

"Why are you laughing?"

"Sam? You are very, very high right now. I need you to stop being adorable."

"You stop being adorable," Sam retorted, folding his arms.

"Eat," Steve told him. "Eat your sandwiches. Drink your water. I'm going to put on a Disney movie."

"Are Disney movies good when you're high?" Sam asked.

"Absolutely." Steve kissed Sam’s temple. "Now, eat."

 

"I always hated _Fantasia_ ," Sam told Steve as he worked on his fourth sandwich. He said it low and careful, like he was afraid of being heard by the ghost of Walt Disney.

"I can't stand it if I'm not stoned," Steve said, licking marshmallow from his own thumb. "But it's so good like this."

Sam nodded, and then kept nodding, and then his eyes crossed.

"Okay," Steve said, taking note of the shift in Sam's expression. "You need a nap. Go pee first."

"Pee first?" Sam echoed uncertainly.

"Now," Steve pressed, starting to haul Sam off the couch. "Come on, Sam."

Sam followed Steve to the bathroom, then stared at the mirror for a solid minute.

"Pee, Sam," Steve reminded him from outside of the door. And then, quickly, he added, "In the toilet."

"Right," Sam said, nodding at his reflection. "Pee in the toilet."

Steve listened until he was sure of what was supposed to happen, then went to Sam's room and turn the fan on. He brought another big jug of water and was smiling to himself and fluffing the pillows when he heard Sam.

"Steve? Where did you go?"

"I'm in your room, Sam," Steve was very proud of himself for not laughing.

 

Sam lay in his bed with his head on Steve's shoulder, staring at the covers for a long time before he took Steve's hand.

"Are you okay?" Steve asked.

"I'm so high," Sam sighed. "I'm baked Alaska."

"Baked Alaska," Steve repeated, shaking a little and grinning wonderingly.

"Your hands aren't soft." Sam said, stroking Steve's fingers with his own. "They look soft, but you don't moisturize."

"I'll try to remember," Steve managed.

"Did you like jumping out of airplanes?" Sam asked.

"Yeah," Steve said. "Did you?"

"Yeah. Did it hurt?"

"Hm?"

"When you fell from Heaven."

"Oh God," Steve giggled a little, horrified. "Sam, no."

"That's a perfect parachute pick up line," Sam said crossly.

"Oh, Sam," Steve shook his head.

"I am a delight," Sam said. "You'd be lucky to be my boyfriend."

"You don't get to ask me out when you're this high," Steve told him, squeezing his fingers.

"I get nervous otherwise," Sam countered. "We're friends. You live here. I want you to stay."

"I'm not going anywhere," Steve patted Sam's hand. "Take a nap."

"I'm not sleepy," Sam complained.

He was snoring in fifteen minutes.

* * *

 "Do you remember the day we met?" Steve said, and Sam looked at Steve sideways. "In that debriefing room?"

"You were really tired," Sam said. "Your accent came out pure Brooklyn."

"The things you miss most about New York."

"You never mentioned Brighton Beach, or Coney Island, or the World's Fair fireworks."

"I never mentioned my visceral hatred of the Yankees, either." Steve dried the dish Sam handed him with a towel.

"True. Point?" Sam glanced over at him.

"I'd add you to that list now."

"You'd rank pretty high for me, too."

"You want to get married, Sam?"

"Do we have to?" Sam teased, flicking soapy water at Steve's shirt.

"Yeah," Steve said, nodding solemnly. "I need to get in on your retirement, maybe your Social Security benefits."

"I guess it would make it easier to visit you the next time you do some dumb shit and end up in the hospital."

"You can threaten to divorce me and it would actually be possible," Steve said.

"I do offer at least once a week," Sam said. "Okay. Want to make it a thing? Or just go to the justice of the peace?"

"I vote JOP, but if we don't ask our families to come, we will be murdered."

"True." Sam bumped his head into Steve's shoulder. "Love you."

"Love you, too," Steve said.

* * *

 "I met Steve in 2011," Sam said, holding a glass of champagne and wearing a perfectly ironed blue dress shirt. "We were in uniform, and we were both exhausted."

"Sam's real impressive in dress blues," Steve replied, holding his own glass. "Guy's got more ribbons than a maypole." Steve's shirt was green.

"Steve was a dirt dart," Sam continued. "Kind of guy who jumps out of perfectly good airplanes. I should have known he was crazy."

"Sam's taught me a lot of things," Steve said. "Like how, if you're going to do something really stupid, like jumping out of a perfectly good airplane, you need a noble-sounding reason, like saving lives."

"Steve is the kind of guy who folds the last square on the roll when company is coming over, but leaves a half-read book on every flat surface."

"Sam irons his money," Steve said, squinting. "Also, he carries cash in the twenty-first century, which I don't understand."

"Steve is loving and affectionate," Sam said, lips starting to twitch at the corner. "Which is why half of my good clothes have graphite or charcoal on them somewhere."

"Sam will be using his collection of cleaning supplies to procure butters and lotions in the zombie apocalypse," Steve said. "This man will kill you with a mop."

"That's why I married him," Sam said. "He has zombie plans. He has contingency plans for the next financial crisis, and for alien invasions."

"Sam is gorgeous."

"Steve is resourceful."

 "Sam is patient and soothing."

"Steve is challenging."

"Sam can bring a knife to a gun fight and win."

"Steve can out stubborn a mule."

"Sam will always have my back."

"Steve will always volunteer to take point." Sam looked at Steve, who gave him a shameless grin and shrugged.

"Because he's a reckless idiot," Bucky muttered, prompting a sharp elbow from Rebecca and snickering from Natasha and Bess.

"And every one of you knew this before we did.” Sam looked pointedly at Bucky, who grinned and rolled his eyes.

"So thank you for being patient with us while we figured it out." Steve rolled his eyes back at Bucky.

"To our first year as Misters Wilson-Rogers and Rogers-Wilson," Sam toasted.

"Cheers, and happy New Year!" They clinked their glasses together.

“Less than two years,” Bucky said to Natasha, holding out his hand for his twenty dollars.

Natasha leaned in as if to kiss Bucky’s nose, then gently bit it instead. He yelped, but Sam and Steve were too busy kissing to notice.

**Author's Note:**

> title from _At Last_ , performed by Etta James
> 
> _At last my love has come along_  
>  _My lonely days are over and life is like a song, oh yeah_  
>  _At last_ **the skies above are blue**  
>  _My heart was wrapped up in clover the night I looked at you_  
>  _I found a dream that I could speak to_  
>  _A dream that I can call my own_  
>  _I found a thrill to press my cheek to_  
>  _A thrill I've never known, oh yeah_  
>  _You smiled, you smiled oh and then the spell was cast_  
>  _And here we are in Heaven_  
>  _For you are mine at last_


End file.
